


the stars rain down from the sky

by wheredwellthe_brave_atheart



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:44:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart/pseuds/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>""I thought we'd be alright," Edmund admits, as Lucy's shoulders begin to heave with mourning. "We've lost everything before, and we weren't even prepared - thought we could bear it better this way-" He takes a shuddering breath, and Eustace remains in place."</p><p>The aftermath of their voyage on the Dawn Treader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stars rain down from the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Chronicles of Narnia world, created by C.S.Lewis. I do not claim ownership over the word or any characters used. I am not profiting in any way from this work, it is my own invention and for entertainment only, and it is not purported to be a part of C.S. Lewis’s official story line.
> 
> Edmund's mentioned encounter with the sirens was initially inspired by ViaLethe's "I Know it in My Memory", which is almost too beautiful to exist. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Eustace tries hard to keep his eyes open, to keep Narnia in his sights for as long as he can; but soon the bright light is harsh on his face. It overwhelms him, and he is forced to squeeze his eyelids shut against the glare. 

And suddenly the air around him tastes stale instead of clear, and he's wearing clothes he hasn't seen for weeks, and, unbidden, he's standing not on pale sand but on the dusty wood of the guest bedroom's floor. 

He feels as though he has just emerged from a dream - or, perhaps, just entered one. Narnia had felt more real, more right, than being here in Harold and Alberta's house. 

Eustace tears his gaze from the painting and glances round at his cousins; they're both pale as the crests of the waves over Aslan's Country. He backs slowly away from the wall, and watches Lucy make her way to the bed, sitting gently on it's covers. Edmund chooses to remain standing by the foot - though chooses might not be the proper word. He looks more dazed than anything, as if his eyesight still hasn't adjusted to this side of the world. 

Eustace closes his own eyes tightly once again, and now tries instead to clear his mind of the bright lilies shining in the water, tries to banish the image of sunlight rolling off Aslan's mane - these memories do not reconcile with the sight of his friends here before him with grief settling clearly on their faces. 

"Edmund," Lucy's voice trembles into the silence. "Ed, do you have your torch?" This remark is entirely nonsensical to Eustace, but Lucy flits her gaze sideways to glance at her brother, peeking up from under her lashes, and waits for his response. 

The Just King's wane face splits unwillingly into a slow grin, and he barks out a short burst of laughter. "Yeah, Luce," he says, chuckling, "I think it'll still be in my room." He exhales heavily, forcefully, raking his hair back roughly. 

His sister reaches her hand out to him, sunlight stretching through her slim fingers. He takes it and pulls her to her feet, wrapping his arms tight around her. 

Eustace feels adrift. "Edmund..." he offers, without knowing how to finish. "Lucy, I..." 

"I thought we'd be alright," Edmund admits, as Lucy's shoulders begin to heave with mourning. "We've lost everything before, and we weren't even prepared - thought we could bear it better this way-" He takes a shuddering breath, and Eustace remains in place. 

...

When they return from the grocer's one morning later that week, Peter is sitting on the front stoop; his book bag in the dust beside him, his sleeves pushed up off his forearms in the summer heat. 

"I sent him a letter," Eustace explains, while for a moment under the glare of the midday sun, Edmund sees the man his brother was in the strain of his shoulders and the calm in his hands as he stands to greet them. "And to Susan,too - got the addresses from Alberta. I thought - well, why not, eh?"

Lucy rushes past his left shoulder, Peter's name bursting forth with a froth of laughter from her lips, and she she launches herself into their elder brother's waiting arms. 

Edmund holds back with Eustace by the fence. "Er, he came right away," his younger cousin says awkwardly. "I wasn't expecting him so early-"

But Edmund claps his cousin on the shoulder and strides towards the house. "Eustace," he grins, feeling the sun's load lesson on his back, "thanks." 

"I know there's not room, so don't worry, I'll be leaving tonight," Peter assures their cousin as they heft the brown paper bags inside, Lucy and Eustace entering the kitchen.

"Shut it, Pete," Edmund closes the front door behind him and meets his brother's gaze. "We're grateful." He hopes Peter can see the truth written on his face. They don't have to say much to each other, any more - they've had enough battles together to be able to communicate with a glance. 

Peter sizes him up. "You haven't been sleeping," he says neutrally, and Edmund clenches his jaw. 

"Not without the sea." 

There's silence - Peter knows he doesn't feel the need to share his own pain, so they just stand together in the quiet that fills their aunt's narrow front hall. 

"How is he?" Peter murmurs eventually, crossing his arms. "I mean,-"

"He's learning," Edmund replies somewhat bitterly, and then softens. "He's good for the kingdom. Truly," he reassures Peter, understanding only too well his brother's worry for their country, his frustration at their inability to help their people. "I can already tell he'll make a good king. It was only three years since we'd left," he adds, and Peter raises his eyebrows. 

"That's all?" he asks incredulously. "I mean, Eustace mentioned Caspian in his note, but I assumed-"

"I know."

Edmund knew what his brother was feeling - it was the thought that had most plagued his mind when they first arrived on the Dawn Treader. The unfairness of it all, that they should be called back thousands of years after their reign, but only three after Caspian's coronation. 

"I suppose Aslan would say to be grateful," Peter offers, and Edmund feels gratitude only for his brother, for his grace and understanding here in the cramped hallway; for he knows how Peter wishes he could've joined them. 

"Yes," he replies calmly. "He would."

Peter grins. "But you wouldn't." 

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." 

They meet each other's gaze for a brief moment, and then move simultaneously to join the others in the kitchen. 

...

It's dusk when Peter finds himself leaning against the rough brick of the back garden's wall, feeling the sharp smoke of his cigarette sear his lungs. The scent of it recalls fire and battles and funeral pyres - it seems to go hand in hand with loneliness. 

"Ah ha," he opens his tired eyes when his sister's voice sounds from over his shoulder. "I thought so. You might like to know that when I asked Ed where you were, he was of the opinion that you'd 'wandered off again'. You'll have to remind me of that particular escapade sometime, alright?" 

He snorts as he remembers a specific cave-exploring venture that had resulted in Edmund's eternal mistrust of his brother's sense of direction, and Lucy comes to stand by his side. 

"Hello," she says blithely, inhaling the smoke that's lingering in the crisp evening air. 

"You don't mind, do you?" Peter asks, gesturing with his cigarette. 

She smiles - something slow and small, but there all the same - and shakes her head. 

"Not at all," she assures him. Then, to his surprise, his youngest sister reaches out and plucks the cigarette from between his knuckles with deft fingers. At the expression of slight incredulity on his face, she raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh, you don't mind, do you?" she teases, testing him just a little. 

Peter laughs, loudly. "Not at all," he agrees, as she takes an neat drag and gives a tiny cough. 

"Not much like Calormen's, eh?" he asks, noticing her expression of slight distaste as she eyes the smoldering embers. 

"Nor the dryad's applewood pipes," Lucy says somewhat forlornly, taking another drag all the same. 

Peter surveys her - sees the tightness in her throat, the flutter in her chest. "Lu," he said, low and soft. "It's alright to be... not alright." She does not dismiss him, and Peter takes that as a sign to continue. "Honestly, you remember Su and I, afterwards. I know you think you ought to be fine, because Aslan told you you will be, but... You don't have to be now."

His sister turns to face him finally, and kisses him lightly on the cheek. 

"Thank-you, Peter," she says sincerely, and she hands him back the now-stub of his cigarette before turning on her heel and into the house. 

Peter crushes the tip underneath his boot and, taking a last deep breath of air, rejoins her inside. 

...

Lucy's days pass slowly, slowly; like ink straining through water. (Edmund's shirtsleeves used to be stained with blues and blacks, Susan's fingers calloused from quills). She misses Peter when he must leave, and does her chores and runs errands with Ed and Eustace, and there's a part of her that's waiting for something. She doesn't realize this until an envelope arrives one Wednesday morning with Susan's name flowing on the return address, and she feels relief she hadn't known she'd needed. 

She tears the cream envelope, ignoring the spot of blood that blooms on the tip of her thumb when the paper's edge punctures her skin. She casts the letter's armor aside, and Susan's familiar curling handwriting jumps from the page in ink blue as the night sky:

"Dearest Lucy and Edmund," Lucy's sister writes, expressing her joy and sorrow at their news, urging her siblings to remain strong. The missive is elegant and silvery - Lucy would've expected nothing less. As she reads it, her feet carry her around the house - her bones are the sails of a ship. The words on the page lend her courage; there is power in each flick of her sister's 't's, resilience hidden in the curve of every 'g'. 

'It's days like these,' Susan writes, 'that remind you of who you are. It's strong tea and a clear sky and a bit of time; and somehow, that's promise enough.' 

Lucy is interrupted from her reverie by the screeching of the tea kettle, quickly followed by the groan of the back door's rusty hinge. 

"Got it!" Edmund shouts as he races through to the kitchen. "I've got it, Lu!" He skids to a stop, just short of burning himself on the stove, and whips the kettle off the flame. The scream of the steam whimpers to a halt, and her brother turns to face her. 

"Tea?" He asks with a cheeky grin, brandishing the hot kettle aloft. 

Lucy tilts her head back and laughs. "Sure, Ed," she says, then offers him the letter in exchange. "Oh, and Susan says hello."

...

"Sometimes I wonder how we've managed at all," Edmund confesses to Eustace as they lie on the back lawn's grass with Lucy, looking up at the stars winking in the Cambridge sky. "There are days when I really can't fathom how I've managed not to... Well, not to run away or to burn the school down or to tell absolutely everyone absolutely everything." He sighs, stretching his arms behind his head, cradling his skull. "Then," he says mockingly, "I remember it's because I'm an adult and a king and I know how to control such impulses."

Eustace feels Lucy's shoulders shake with laughter next to him. "Oh, yes, Edmund. Trying to join the army when your birth certificate reads sixteen is exactly the kind of decision made by a logical, rational-"

"Alright, alright," her brother protests as Lucy subsides into a fit of laughter once more. "Like mother's never caught you talking to the trees."

"Trees?" Eustace asks, bewildered, as the siblings sober on either side of him. 

"Oooooh, I forgot you wouldn't have met any on board," Lucy says petulantly. "Dryads. Like the naiads I was telling you about."

"But-"

"Another time, Eustace," Edmund pleads, as the chirrup of crickets begins to emerge from the garden. "Trust me, we have all of August left. Soon you'll be begging us to shut up."

"Never," Eustace protests, shocked, but lets it go without more of a fight. He listens to the sound of the Cambridge evening bloom around them: insects, the odd car over the nearby streets' cobblestones, the steady breathing of his cousins. 

"It's so quiet without the air-raids," he remarks, breaking the silence. "You couldn't ignore those sirens."

Lucy laughs. "Couldn't in Narnia, either," she says, wryly, and then, seeing the look of confusion on her cousin's face, takes pity on him. "But I mean the kind that live in the sea and try to drown you."

Eustace isn't quite sure how to respond to such a statement. Luckily, Edmund speaks before he's forced to ask another question. 

"I was actually caught by sirens once, Eustace," his dark-haired cousin says evenly, words hovering in the night air. "Well, I say caught. It was close. We were on a tiny island - more of an inlet, really, we were coming home from a diplomatic mission to Galma, and we'd stopped for a little picnic. Anyway, there were three of them in a cove nearby, and I was chest-deep in waves before Susan finally swam out, she caught me and pulled me away. Had her arms wrapped all the way round me, nearly had to knock me out. The others were all screaming from the beach, I never heard a thing."

Here Edmund snorts derisively, pulling himself up so he's sitting rather than lying on the prickly grass. "Pretty obvious what my brand of weakness is, eh?" He sighs heavily, closing his eyes. "Well, this feels just like that," he says, swallowing thickly. 

"Like what?" Eustace asks in hushed tones, sitting up as well. 

"He's afraid," Lucy whispers from beside him, her gaze trained on her brother. "He's afraid because it would be so easy to miss Narnia forever, to only think about our lives there, and not remember here. Like how it would be easy to let yourself be drowned by a siren. That's what it feels like right now - like I'm drowning. Or, I would be, if I let myself." She gathers all her hair up, pushing it swiftly off her neck, and then lets it fall in a heap to curl about her shoulders again. 

"But we won't, will we?" she asks determinedly. 

"I don't quite understand," Eustace says, frowning. 

Lucy's voice gains volume now, and she turns to face Eustace instead. "Even though we all know he's silly for not quite seeing just how ridiculously strong he is, Edmund thinks mourning Narnia - yet again, I might add - means that he's failing. That he's - how would you say it, Ed? - 'giving in to temptation.'"

Edmund quirks and eyebrow and shrugs, acknowledging the truth in her phrasing. 

Eustace is suddenly seized by the unfairness of it all, that his cousins are now forever barred from where they call home. "Is there nothing you can do?" he asks desperately. "Isn't there any way-?"

"I've been a general," Edmund interrupts sharply. "I know what happens to those trapped in a gateway. We can't," he shakes his head solemnly. "We can't waste our lives here wanting and not doing." 

"You've been talking to Su," Lucy murmurs; a statement, not a question. "You're both right." She hugs her legs to her chest, resting her chin atop her knees. "We'll be alright," she says, in a voice ringing with graceful authority. "Truly, we will. We have strength, we have courage and a bit of wisdom." Lucy's smile is full of warmth, and Eustace feels a bit like when Aslan spoke to them. "We have time."

A calm sort of silence descends over the trio, and they turn their gazes up into the stars hovering above them. 

'We will be alright,' Eustace thinks to himself, relishing the bright moonlight on his face. 

Time enough now, for this; time enough, and peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought :)


End file.
